


I'll keep my heart slow

by Anuna



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance, and then it's heartbreaking, because i am suffering too, because she realizes he is not evil, but i make it good i promise, but she can't, i just happen to tear your hearts out along the way, in which skye tries so hard to be mad at ward, it's hilarious, just as viewers should realize it too, not all of ward's laundry and underwear is black, post redemption, pre season one reveal, romantic skyeward, suffer, therefore it can suffer a pink accident, ward gets drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-15 14:09:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2231907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anuna/pseuds/Anuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Skye and Ward sneak into each other's rooms. With various success.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll keep my heart slow

**Author's Note:**

> I was prompted at tumblr and at this point I don't remember who gave me the prompt and I am failing to find it. But whoever it was, thank you and here you go. I hope you like!

It takes a significant amount of his trained and tried patience not to start yelling at her because she is late. 

Every. 

Damn. 

Morning. 

But no matter how many push ups (or pull-ups for that matter) he makes her do, Skye is late. 

That morning he gets up at five, and takes fifteen minutes to get ready. Then, instead of heading towards the kitchen, he sneaks down the narrow, short hall of the plane, clutching an alarm clock in his hand. It's set to five – thirty, which should give Skye enough time to (probably) groan in protest, (most probably) curse his name, roll over, give up on sleep, get up, get dressed and head down to the makeshift gym. 

It feels ridiculous. Has he come down to this? Is he using his hard earned skills to slip in an alarm clock into Skye's bunk, to make sure his rookie wakes up?

(It _is_ his duty, he tells himself. Well no, probably not – each rookie has duties of their own, but still. She's _his_ rookie. He tests the weight of that notion around in his mind.)

He pauses in front of Skye's door. Carefully pulls the door open. Skye's fast asleep with her hands under her cheek and her hair falling everywhere. Ward pauses. Bites his lip. Tells himself that he's not supposed to … look at her or anything. Remembers that he could shake her awake, in fact, if this was him? He'd get a bucket of water in his face. Maybe John would laugh at him sleeping in. 

That was all right for him, but doesn't feel right for her; in fact him intruding in her space doesn't feel right either. There's a fleeting thought about how it must be strange to be surrounded with people all of the sudden after living alone for so long. He leaves the alarm clock on the floor, far out of her reach, closes the door and makes his leave. 

Half an hour later, and precisely on time, Skye comes down the spiral stairway, rubbing her eyes. She comes to stand in front of Ward, arms crossed, an over – the – top frown fixed on her face. 

“You, mister,” she says, “are going down.”

He chuckles, ready to start with the warming up drills. 

A week later he finds all of his laundry in various shades of pink, but somehow fails to be angry about it. 

*

When the Bus falls silent it's not the normal kind of silent – not that he should think of it as normal. He was on assignment, he completed it with moderate success. Raina is working on John's medicine. Everything is as it should be. 

And yet. 

Grant tosses, turns and eventually throws the pillow to the floor. Tells himself that there's no difference in sounds, that he wouldn't hear Fitz working late in a lab anyway, he especially wouldn't hear May doing her tai – chi. 

He would hear Skye laughing over a new episode of whatever show she watched. 

He is an idiot, and he is weak, and he ultimately fails everyone he cares about. The pull he feels is too strong even if the echo of her punches and the bite of her words still sting. (They do and they will never leave him). He gets up and pads quietly over to her door. Her bunk is empty and her belongings still inside – her cover on the bed slightly rumpled and her prized laptop sitting on top of it and on the floor books he recommended her to read. 

( _You don't have to. But they're interesting and the main character is smart and it's... funny?_ )

He makes no move to collect his worn Terry Pratchett's from her floor (John never saw him reading these); instead he sits down, his back against her bunk, and tries not to think or feel (because he can choose, can't he?); tries not to wonder about Fitz and Simmons and the med pod (it should float and they should be much safer there than on board this plane). But the scent of Skye lingers around him like her words – you are a traitor, a liar, a killer. And because he is an idiot and weak he stays in here, powerless against the sound of her voice. 

*

She shouldn't be checking on him. Skye is, in fact, pretty certain that Coulson wouldn't like it and would even tell her to go back to her bunk, which is why she is sneaking around. The lock to the cage is nothing she wouldn't be able to open. She clutches the electronic key card she personally programmed in one hand and a bottle of water in another. The plane is quiet. She perfected the art of sneaking since the training sessions with Ward in the cargo bay of this same airplane, and when she thinks of that time she feels her stomach twist. It's not a feeling she has to wrestle any more; instead it's a pang much like longing, only more bitter. And it's not like she's not angry at Ward any more, or that she's forgotten (she didn't); it's... she pauses just a few steps before the door. 

He risked a lot in order to save the hard drive she's been working on for post couple of days. Skye counted on the possibility of losing it, and didn't expect Ward of all people would go through so much trouble to retrieve her programs and falsified data. (Wait. That's a lie. She knows that's a lie.)

He drinks a lot of water. ( _Hydration is important, Skye_. What an irony, right?) And she supposes he drank all of his water by now. He spends his nights behind locked doors because he agreed to it – nowhere in Skye's mind is there a doubt that he'd break himself out if he chose to do so. Which is why Skye unlocks his door and slowly opens it, fully expecting to find him sitting upright, his back straight against the wall. 

He's not, though. Not sitting. He's asleep instead. Asleep with “Nightwatch” on top of his chest. Skye never managed to finish the story of the soldier who went back to past in order to fix the future. 

Skye stops in the middle of the room, taken aback with the sight of him asleep; of how _young_ he looks, relaxed and untouched and _pretty_. She leaves the bottle near his bed and resists the urge to smooth back his hair; and then leaves. 

*

Skye is almost asleep when she hears something just outside her door. The base was built during the World War two, and while the walls are thick and solid, they're not soundproof. A moment later there's knocking, so urgent that she stumbles out of her bed thinking it has to be some kind of emergency. 

She opens the door and there is Ward, his fist about to knock against the thin air. 

“Skye!” his eyes seem a bit too bright. “Quick, hide me,” he says, and before she can ask why or what's going on he stumbles inside. When he closes the door, he presses his back against it – like he's running away from a squad of berserk Hydra soldiers if not worse – and Skye is about to ask what the hell is going on and should she call someone, until he presses a finger against his lips and says “Shhhhh.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “What the hell, Ward?”

“Shhh, he'll find me,” he says. Skye leans closer. 

“Who will find you?” she asks. Something is definitely not right with him. 

“Fitz,” Ward says, his expression changing so quickly, from worried to dead serious, it almost looks comical. 

It suddenly dawns on her just what's wrong. She steps even closer to him and sniffs. 

“Fitz? Ward, are you drunk?”

“A little bit?” he says, and the stone seriousness becomes a pleading look. Next, there's noise outside, and someone calling Ward's name. 

“Hide me!” he says. Skye rolls her eyes, because she is not in the mood for their shenanigans. In the next moment Fitz is banging against her door and when she opens, she gives him her best not – amused look. 

“He's here, isn't he?” Fitz says, and unlike Ward, he is so _obviously_ drunk. 

“Wow, Fitz,” Skye frowns. “You smell like distillery. What happened?” 

“N – n – no, don't give me those evasive tactics,” he waves a finger at her. “Ward. Hand him over.” 

“I don't owe Ward, Fitz,” Skye says. 

“Nuh huh, lass, that's where you're wrong, bloody wrong,” he starts to giggle at himself being oh so clever. Skye sighs because no, she's not going there and discussing that with Fitz or _herself_ anyone else. 

“Yeah, not interested, Fitz,” she says. “Go sleep or I'll call Simmons.”

Fitz is gently swaying from one side to another. Skye wonders just how much of alcohol (and what kind of alcohol, for that matter) he put in himself, to be this drunk. 

“Emp'y threats,” he says.

“Don't test me,” Skye threatens. Fitz mock salutes her and leaves, muttering something about rivers in Egypt. Skye closes her door, a bit too loudly and walks back to her bedroom, only to find Ward sprawled face down on her bed. 

Oh no, you won't, she thinks. She didn't let guys she dated to drool over her sheets. 

“Ward,” she pokes his side. He jerks and curls and groans. 

“No, no,” he complains into her mattress, “ticklish.”

Skye closes her eyes. How she doesn't need more endearing details about him. 

“I don't care if you are,” she says. “Get out of my bed.”

“No,” he moans. “Tired.”

“You have your bed,” she points out reasonably and tries to grab his hand to pull him up. Which would work if he cooperated; but he is taller than her, significantly heavier, and completely shitfaced. He turns his face to look at her, and nope, she had never seen him like this. 

“Alone,” he frowns and complains. Okay, that gives her a pang in her chest, and some treacherous part of her wants to pull him into her lap and pet him, because yes. He's alone. And he's been remarkably alone and withdrawn for months and that must suck for him. (And he's not as evil as she thought, no, actually, he doesn't seem evil at all, but more like... perpetually lost and sad, she just pretends she doesn't see it in those moments when he thinks nobody is watching him.) He curls into himself like a kid, which looks ridiculous because he's so _big_ , and then it's just sad. But she shouldn't give in. He can be cute all he wants, but she still hasn't forgiven him. 

“Ward, you're a big boy,” she says, takes his hand and starts pulling. After a moment he tugs, and even like this he's ridiculously strong. 

“No,” he says. “Bad dreams. And then I wake up alone and nobody cares,” he says. “Well, Fitz does,” he adds as an afterthought. Skye closes her eyes and bites her lip. No. She shouldn't let him do this. But he's not letting her go. “I wish I didn't... hurt you,” he says. Looks at her. He's drunk, but he's honest too, or at least he looks honest, as honest as she thinks he can get. “I'd rather hurt myself. I'd take it back. Only I can't. Fuck,” he's saying and starting to get up. He's holding the edges of bed then, swaying left to right; and then he steadies himself. After a long drawn breath he looks up at her. “I'd rather go and be alone than hurt you, Skye.”

It's how he says her name. That's what breaks her. That, the choked sound of regret and longing in his eyes matching hers, because dammit, she misses him. Misses being friends with him. She wants to forgive him, just so she can tease him in the morning or go to talk to him and ask his opinion or advice; but she needs to be sure that he's learned a lesson, that he really means all this, that h really wants to be this man who repents and regrets... and he's alone. 

And Skye knows _alone_. 

He's looking at the floor, preparing to get up. 

She sits next to him, and purposefully places her hand on his. He waits a moment and then looks up at her. That look reminds her so much of the one he gave her just before he kissed her – oh, how well she remembers. Like she's the whole world; like he can't believe someone wants to hear him out after all, or just be nice to him, even for a little while. 

“You don't have to -” he starts, but she shakes her head. 

“I want to,” she says quietly. 

When she pulls him down and stretches next to him, it's strange and awkward. She's tense and her chest is full of mutually colliding emotions. It's scary. She could give in so easily. She is already giving in to _something_. Ward smiles, like he doesn't believe she exists. It's a wide, dopey, blinding smile. 

Skye tentatively smiles back. 

(She'll regret this.)

He looks happy when he closes his eyes. She supposes that's enough for him. 

*

The minutes are ticking. Minutes pass her by and nobody calls. Each new minute, each new second, and it's less likely that she'll ever see him again. 

She goes to Coulson who remains unwilling to let her go into the wreckage, and she wants to yell at him, she wants to tell him doesn't he understand? She has to go there, even though it's a ten hours flight and they've been following the mission via satellites. She has to go, she _needs_ to go, she has to be the one to make sure that others have looked everywhere, that they had searched properly and looked at all the places. 

Otherwise she will never be able to accept …

Skye runs away to find a shelter in his quarters. Only when she surrounds herself with his smell and his belongings and the echo of his being – steady and pedantic and quiet – she allows herself to crumble. 

And only now when she has lost him ( _no, no, it can't be it can't be, he deserves a second chance and not to go like this, die because extraction plan didn't work out like it should_ ). 

Only then she realizes how much she wants him back. 

*

It's been two days and this time Skye isn't even trying to sneak in. Frankly, she doesn't care. 

They've found Ward buried under rubble of a caved in house where he was hiding while waiting for extraction. Simmons told her what he's been saying - _I knew you'd come_ , even as he was slipping. Two days later and he peacefully sleeps inside the med bay. 

She sneaks in coffee and actual food and music. Ward sleeps, and he sleeps so heavily that he doesn't even stir when she climbs in next to him, fits her smaller body the best she can next to his, so that their contact is constant and complete. (She _needs_ it and she's not willing to explain to anyone, including herself).

She puts on the music (cellos, nice cello duets because that seems like something he'd appreciate, because she still doesn't know what kind of music he _likes_. She still doesn't know so many things, and she wants to. 

And now, thank God and anyone else who might be listening, she has the time.)

He slowly breathes and she's reading Nightwatch, trying not to laugh out loud at places, and pausing to think about the irony of him introducing her to a book in which a soldier travels back in time to fix things and save lives. 

An hour later her cello playlist is on its second repeat when he stirs awake. 

“Skye?” he says and tries to move. 

“Sleepyhead,” she says, feeling so light in her chest, that she doesn't even care to pretend any more. 

“What... what are you doing here?” he asks. 

“Oh just caching up on my reading,” she says and shows him the cover of the book. “It's a good one, you know. You should read it sometime.” 

That teases out a chuckle out of him. 

“How do you feel?” she asks. He suffered contusions and bruises and thankfully no serious injuries, but he's been dehydrated and generally exhausted and they just let him sleep under Jemma's watchful eye. 

“Almost human,” he says. “Do I smell coffee?” 

“You do,” she says. “There's food too.”

“Am I going to get any of that soon?”

She reluctantly disentangles from him and putters around, bringing hi coffee and sandwiches she's made; then silently sits with a coffee of her own until he's done with the food. She takes his tray away. Outside and thunder echoes and the rain starts to beat against the tall windows. Skye nears the bed again and meets his eyes. She can't read his look because she doesn't fully dare to – there are too many things looking back at her and finding a mirror right inside her chest. She bites her lip and starts to climb back into the narrow medical bed; and he promptly shifts to make room for her. When she's next to him he lifts his covers, and she doesn't hesitate. Another thunder echoes and Skye remembers being afraid of them when she was small. She remembers not having anyone to hold her close. Ward's arm gently pulls her until she's pressed against his chest and his fingers are in her hair. She sneaks into a hug, fingers tracing the bones of his ribs and the outline of his spine as they shift to lay face to face. Finally, her face is under his chin and she can feel him kissing the top of her head. When she looks up he kisses her forehead and when she doesn't protest, he kisses her on the mouth. Skye kisses back, gently, because neither of them is ready to rush. When she's back against his chest and his body is wrapped around her, she feels like she's finally arrived. 

“This is nice,” he says. 

“Yeah. Don't even do that again,” she answers. 

“Do what?”

“Almost die,” she clarifies. 

“Okay,” there's a hint of a smile in his voice. When she looks up at him, her eyes are prickling. He smiles, the same way her SO smiled. She helped Jemma shave his face two days earlier, and despite the shadow darkening his cheeks, there's so much light clinging to him. 

“Like you can promise that,” she says, burrowing herself further into his warmth. 

“I have a lot of reasons to stay alive,” he says. The words sink warmly into her hair and warm her from head to toes. 

An hour later Fitz comes in to check on Ward and finds both him and Skye asleep. 

“I knew she was hiding him,” he mutters to himself before leaving.


End file.
